While We Were Apart
by LauraRoslinForever
Summary: Abigail Walters is a talented medical student. Marcus Kane is single, has a job he loves where he spends his days playing guitar and singing in a run-down pub. There, Abby and Marcus meet and spend the next two months hardly leaving the other's side. But it's what happens after Abby returns home that will break their hearts and change their lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

The memories Abby had of Christmas were always filled with warmth and happiness. The smell of her mother's cooking and the sound of her singing were distinct in the air from the moment she woke up and continued throughout the day. Her mother was always baking something, always humming along with some song that was playing while she scooped batter, filled pies, or scraped up sugar cookies. Even when Abby went off to college and then medical school, she would always make sure she was home for Christmas.

Only this Christmas, for the first time in her life, she was without her mother and for all she cared, she might as well be without a father. This year, she didn't wake in her parents' home. There was no smell of cooking, and the only music that could be heard came from the apartment above hers.

Eric Jackson had started his internship at the same time as Abby. His father owned the brownstone she lived in. Over the summer, a friend of his moved to Philadelphia and he offered it to her, knowing she had been struggling to find a more affordable place to live. The brownstone had been remodeled into two apartments. One upstairs and one down. Eric was already living in the downstairs but offered her the first floor and rent so cheap she couldn't turn it down. Eric was a little younger than her, incredibly sweet, and oh so very protective of her.

A familiar melody drifted down below the floor, making Abby smile. He and his boyfriend, Nathan were starting the morning off with Barbra Streisand's Christmas album. Probably up and preparing for their party later that night. She had been invited, but her back had been hurting and she hadn't really felt all that well these last few days.

Being nearly nine-months pregnant, Abby had shot down every invitation from friends and coworkers to attend one party or another. It wasn't that she wasn't in the mood, although the first year without her mother pulled at her heart with a fierceness that she couldn't put into words, she would rather not leave her bed if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Unless it was for a cup of hot chocolate, which she was going to need another soon as the one she made not so long ago was almost gone, right along with a sleeve of Oreos. But her bed was comfortable and was getting to the best part in Love Actually. The part where Hugh Grant tells off the President of The United States and then gets caught dancing by his secretary. Was she his secretary? Abby pursed her lips in thought and ran her hand over her belly absentmindedly soothing the little baby kicking within. That small detail had annoyingly slipped her mind, but she blamed it on the pregnancy brain because, as she had discovered, forgetfulness in pregnancy was most definitely a thing.

She would never get to watch that scene, though.

Just as the song had started and Hugh's hips began swaying, a pain, a white-hot searing pain ripped through her middle. She gasped, clutched her belly with one hand while trying to reach over and set her cup on the nightstand with the other.

The cup caught on the edge of the table and fell to the floor. What remained of the chocolate spilled all over the rug and the hardwood floor. The pain was so intense she clamped her lips together and let herself fall slowly to her side, whimpering, trying not to scream while she waited for the pain to ease.

Minutes passed and the pain was still there, still as intense, refusing to subside. She may not have specialized in obstetrics, but she knew enough to know something was wrong and needed to get help. With what little strength she had, Abby managed to pull herself up, to reach for her phone that had been charging on the table beside her bed. Her hands shook as she dialed 9-1-1 and her voice trembled when she explained her situation to the woman with the kind, but firm voice telling her not to panic, that she would have help on the way.

In the back of her mind through the fog of agony, she remembered her apartment door was locked, and she'd need to go unlock it for the paramedics. She got up from the bed, the sight of blood on her sheets poured fear and dread through her like someone had dumped a cold bucket of ice water over her head. Her pulse thundered, her mind raced over all the things that could be wrong, but with every step, her mind fogged, her steps became weaker, the pain more and more intense that by the time she made it to the door it was all she could do to stay on her feet.

The deadbolt to the door slid easily to the side, and she let her weight fall against the wall as she tried to blink away the spots that danced in front of her eyes. But then, the world began to tilt and she knew she was about to lose consciousness, so she slid slowly down the wall until she was seated on the floor. There, she ran a shaky hand over her stomach, whispered words of assurance to the baby in her belly that help was on the way, that they were going to be fine, and that she loved her more than anything in the whole world.

Another pain lanced through her and this time, Abby didn't hold back the scream that rose in her throat. The phone she had been holding up to her ear, slipped from her hand to the floor. She tried reaching out for it, but before she could the blackness took her.

Abby woke the same way she did each and every time she had this nightmare. Gasping and sitting up in bed with her heart pounding in her chest. There were tears on her cheeks because for a moment, a ridiculous stupid moment before she remembered it was a dream she had hope that she would wake to find her baby wasn't gone. That she made it, that she was safe and not gone from her forever.

But her baby girl was gone, and that tiny bubble of hope popped, because when Abby woke later that night it wasn't with her baby safe inside her or in a small cot beside her bed, but with her father sitting in a chair looking ragged and worn. His eyes met hers a second before he told her how sorry he was, that the baby was gone and that someday Abby would realize how much better off her life was going to be without her.

That had been three years and two months ago now, and Abby still dreamt about that day. Still woke feeling her daughter's absence so deeply in her chest it almost suffocated her. A part of her that wished she would have asked to see her baby. But she hadn't, and now all she could do was picture her. Picture a little girl with her smile and her father's eyes.

Marcus' eyes.

There were times since when she picked up her phone and wanting more than anything to call the number still saved even though she knew his number had changed since the day he gave it to her. She knew because she called it a year after she lost their baby. She had been heartbroken when his voice hadn't answered, but she wasn't sure if the feeling came from losing Marcus too, or relief that she wouldn't have to break his heart right along with hers.

Sniffing, Abby reached out for her phone where it laid under the pillow beside her to check the time. It was just after five in the morning. She rolled over and brushing her hair away from her face, and sighed. She should probably get up and take a shower. She could never find a peaceful sleep after dreams of what happened.

In the kitchen, she set her first cup of coffee to a strong pour and waited while the Keurig machine did its thing. She had to be at work at nine. Her third year of her residency had begun a few weeks ago and thank God. She wasn't sure how much more she could take to being under the supervision of Thelonious Jaha. Not only was he the Chief of Medical, but a world-class pretentious asshole who couldn't keep his damn eyes off of her.

One of these days, she would think bitterly and walk off in the direction of wherever he wasn't. Abby reached for her coffee as it finished up. Mount Sinai waited for her as soon as she finished at Beth Israel, and then she would tell him exactly where he could put his compliments and occasional (weekly) offers of dinner.

Or she would just leave and not say anything because he was the type of man who would say something about her departure or hold it against her for future use. New York may be full of doctors, but it would be her luck to end up needing a favor from him or someone in his hospital, and she really would hate it if his resentment followed her.

With a sigh, Abby took her cup of coffee in hand. She made her way back to her room while putting thoughts of past sadness in a box that wouldn't be opened while she was at work, and any lingering thoughts of annoying bosses aside.

But just as she was about to head for the shower her phone began to ring.

Her brow furrowed. There wasn't anyone she knew off the top of her head who would be up at this hour. Her best friend Callie could hardly make it on time to her shift at the hospital by ten let alone be up and calling her before six. Walking over to her bed, she curiously glanced down at the number.

"So much for putting away the past," she murmured, reading not the number, but the name on the screen.

Andrew Walters.

Abby hadn't spoken to her father in almost a year, and before then it was only once after she lost her daughter. He had shown up at her graduation regardless of her telling him not to come so that he could tell her how proud he was, and to hand her a check. Her inheritance.

While she still wanted nothing from him, whatever had him calling and so early, must have had a reason behind it. So she answered against her better judgment, even though he deserved being a permanent name on her 'straight to voicemail' list along with Thelonious Jaha and annoying telemarketers.

But it wasn't her father, it was her aunt. And it was only her aunt's tears that had her twenty minutes later hailing a cab to take her downtown to Mount Sinai Hospital.

* * *

In a small music studio an ocean away, Marcus Kane wore a pair of headphones while he strummed notes on his guitar as the finished the last song for the new album he'd written. If he was honest with himself, it would be a lot like his last. Almost every song spoke of love and loss. Almost always a song about a girl who got away, always one about missing a great love that was gone forever.

He tapped the end of his pencil on the sheet of paper. It's good, he thought with finality and removed the headphones. Placing them on the stool beside him, he let out a soft sigh allowing himself to fully feel the exhaustion that had been building these last few weeks working endlessly to be done for a while.

While most of his days were spent drinking copious amounts of coffee, writing and recording demos, this latest project, a second record of all his own songs not co-written with anyone, had been bloody arduous. Thankfully, next week he could return to his normal, more relaxed routine.

"Marcus Kane, do you know how late it is?" a woman's American accented voice asked from somewhere behind him. He turned in his chair to find the daughter of the president of the record company, Diana Sydney standing in the doorway. As their head AR in charge of finding new talent, she'd been the one to "discover him," as she would say, in a pub just outside of his hometown of Edinburgh, playing a song he'd wrote about a year after Abby left. She liked taking credit for him. Liked to make sure he knew she was solely responsible for his success.

He didn't mind it so much, after all, he was grateful for her signing him and giving him a good job doing what he loved. But he knew damn good and well her interest in him went beyond the professional, and if he were to show even the smallest bit of interest, she would use those tan legs and senseless six-inch heels and jump on the opportunity. But he didn't have one. Aye, she was attractive. He as good as admitted it to his best mate in the pub one night when Sinclair asked him why the hell he hadn't gone for it yet. The truth was and still continued to be he wasn't interested in anyone who wasn't his Abby.

He hadn't answered yet, and she raised a brow and that movement lifted him from his thoughts back to the present. "Just wanted to finish this."

"Let's see." She walked over to him and took the headphones from the stool beside him and sat. She crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to what he could only assume was to draw his eye. He kept his eyes up though, and eventually, her eyes left his and fell to the paper in front of him. Of course, she had to lean closer to have a good look. Whatever perfume she wore she had to have touched up before she came to see him because it was potent. Strong enough he had to hold his breath to keep from outright coughing from it. It was quiet for a moment while she read the notes and words on the paper. Finally, she straightened her posture and flashed him a look. Frustration mixed with amusement, he thought with a repressed smirk. "You know, I've always wondered who it was who broke your heart so bad you spend your days writing sob story after sob story."

He sat back if not to escape her perfume but to put some distance between them and gave her a wry smile. "Does it really make a difference as long as it sells?"

The look in her eyes told him she understood. He wasn't about to tell her the story behind his songs and to her credit, she didn't push it, for which he was grateful.

"No, I guess it doesn't," she said, then stood. "I'd ask you out for a drink, but then I'd hate my best songwriter to lose his inspiration."

He chuckled. Well, that was a relief. "Thanks for the compliment, I think?"

"It was. This album's going to be a hit. Go home, Marcus." The sound of her heels on the laminate floor paused in the doorway, and he looked over to see why she hadn't left. She leaned against the door frame; her blue eyes meeting his once again before she smirked. "But it wouldn't kill you to try and write something a little less heartbreaking for once."

His lips pull up, another soft chuckle rumbled up from his chest. Still, he shook his head. "Maybe one day."

With that, she did leave and for good this time. He let out a loud breath, and rose to his feet, collecting his sheets of papers and straightening them before stuffing them into his knapsack. His guitar he collected from the stand to put it into its case while sparing a glance at the picture of taped to the inside. It was one of many they'd taken with a disposable camera and later would split between them. One of five he had of just them. His favorite. One that she snapped while they were looking at one another. Smiling like a couple of young, love-sick idiots.

He let himself remember that day for another moment, then snapped his case shut and pulled on his coat.

Spring didn't have the bite that had been left from winter as of late. Still, he zipped up his coat against the lingering chill and made his way to his car. He was a pitiful sod, and he was fully aware of that. He had been told by friends on many occasions how crazy he was for pining after a woman he only knew for two months and if he really loved her that much he should have gone after her, or go after her.

Jesus, if they only knew how much he wished he had or could.

She'd been gone for six weeks and he hadn't heard a word from her in two. The last call from her they talked about him coming to see her in the fall during her break, but now there was nothing. She wasn't answering her phone or any of his messages, and he couldn't think of a reason why she wouldn't.

A knot in his stomach was twisting his insides, a feeling so powerful he couldn't shake, a feeling that told him something was wrong. When another week went by, he made the decision before he could think too much about it. Using all he had in savings, Marcus booked a ticket on the first plane to New York.

When he got home to pack, his mother was there waiting for him like she did every Sunday evening before she dragged him to mass. Not this Sunday though.

"Marcus where do ya think you're going?" she asked after him when he told her he couldn't go and that he might be gone for a little while.

"But where?" she asked again.

"New York," he called down the hall.

"Ya can't just go running off after a lass," she went on because she knew why he was going. He wasn't surprised either. Abby was all he talked about as of late, but what else could he do? He was a goddamn fool in love, and he didn't care who knew it. "Stop and think a moment about this, Marcus-"

He laughed. Told her how he'd thought of nothing else, and between cramming jeans and tee-shirts into his bag, he asked her if she'd look after things while he was gone. She agreed, albeit reluctantly. Told him she thought him a fool, and he couldn't agree more.

Just as he zipped his bag close and was about to kiss her on the cheek goodbye, his phone rang. His heart swooped in his chest, rose with hope like it did each time the old bloody thing on the wall went off and he stepped over to it quickly answering with a hopeful, "Hello?"

It wasn't Abby. It was his mate and sister's new boyfriend, Sinclair. Marcus listened and sank in a chair beside the wall. Disbelief and shock had him holding the phone to his ear long after Sinclair hung up. He could hear his mother say his name and looked over at her.

"Who was that?"

He swallowed and told her, "It was Sinclair. Aurora and the kids, they've been an accident."


	2. Chapter 2

She paused just outside of the doorway that led into her father's room. The antiseptic smell of the hospital which normally smelled familiar and comforting, like her second home, only now reminded her of her last moments with her mother, and when she woke up after losing her daughter. From where she stood, she could see into the room, see her father lying asleep in the bed, and hear the heart monitor beside his bed that made a soft beep with each beat of his heart.

Her arms were crossed over her chest, holding her jacket in front of her like a barrier she needed to put between them. Though, what more he could do to her now, she didn't know.

"Abby, you're here." Abby turned her head to see her father's sister, Annabell, rise from the chair beside the bed. Abby didn't move from where she stood by the door, only gave her aunt the barest hint of a smile in acknowledgment. "He's been asking for you," she told her in a low voice then, "Would you mind sitting with him while I go grab something to drink, dear?"

She wanted to tell her aunt she was just stopping by quickly enough to say her goodbyes, but her aunt looked pale and tired. If Abby got lucky her father would stay asleep, and she wouldn't have to worry about having to talk to him. So instead she nodded, and told her, "Sure."

Her aunt gave her arm a gentle squeeze, then when she was gone, Abby made her way over to her vacated seat.

Her father's failing health as of late made him look older, thinner, but she could still see the man he was, despite his sallow skin and pronounced cheekbones. So much so that her gaze lifted away from him over to the window. It was still so hard to look at him.

She breathed deep and fixated on the city outside. The approaching spring brought with it rain, and it had been falling for days now. Standing there at the window with it coming down like it was, it took her back to the last time she was alone with her father like this.

 _Her tears had slid down her cheeks, mirroring the rain that was falling in rivulets down her New York City apartment window. The morning had been dark, and clouds above were heavy, unleashing a storm that showed no signs of relenting._

 _Her father's angry voice was still shouting at her from across the room and she hadn't expected he would tire of it anytime soon. "A musician, Abigail? Good God, I thought I'd raised you better than this. You honestly think some backwoods Scotsman from nowhere is going to take care of you? Or better yet, want anything to do with you now?"_

" _You don't know him-" she had begun, turning to face him, not bothering to wipe away the wetness from her cheeks or mask the hurt from her eyes._

" _And what about school?" he interrupted, barking at her like she was an inexperienced child. Beneath the hurt, his outrage had her anger simmering. He had never cared about what was important to her. "Three years into medical school and you're just going to give it all up?"_

" _No, I won't," she insisted, her tone rising right along with his. "This changes nothing. I'm still going to be a doctor-"_

" _And raise a child on your own?" He scoffed and rubbed a hand over his mouth, his green eyes bore into hers and she stared back, defiant. She had never hated him more in her life than she had at that moment._

 _Abby tilted her chin up. "No. Not on my own."_

 _His face had fallen then, along with his shoulders, suddenly looking like all the fight had gone out of him. It caught her off guard, because he wasn't one who gave up so easily or as quickly. "I see you're determined."_

" _I am," she told him and crossed her arms across her chest._

" _If this is the way it has to be, so be it, but," he paused, came closer to her and narrowed his eyes before going on, "if you want me to continue to pay your tuition and the life you find so comfortable, I want you to do one thing for me."_

 _She blinked at him, not knowing what to think. Why would he offer her anything? Why would he suddenly support her when he made it perfectly clear he thought it all a mistake? But then, he wasn't offering her anything, he was threatening. "What's that?"_

" _I want you to consider all of your options_ before _you go telling this man. I want you to seriously consider what would be better, not for you, but for this child. You're so certain this man will want to be a part of its life but are you going to ask him to move here?" He tilted his head at her. "Give up his life while you go to school? Is that fair to him? Is it fair to the child?"_

 _Stunned, she said nothing in return and turned back to look outside because until that moment she never doubted that she and Marcus could figure it all out, but now her father was making her question all she believed._

" _You don't have to get rid of it, Abigail, but there are other options. There's adoption. You can't be selfish in this. You have to think about what kind of future you want your child to have. What kind of future does it deserve and if you can honestly say you can give it that, then fine. But I want you to think long and hard before you go making any decisions. Before you go ruining not only your life but his. Because that's what you'll be doing."_

 _She lifted her hand, touched the tips of her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek._

" _Thank God your mother isn't alive to see what a disappointment you've become."_

 _Moments later the door slammed shut behind him in his wake. Her shoulders shook from her quiet sobs muffled by her hand that now covered her mouth._

 _The last thing she ever wanted to do was ruin Marcus' life._

The sound of the voice by the very man who manipulated her that day suddenly filled the room.

"Abigail," he rasped as he woke. She could tell he was having trouble speaking, and the doctor in her had her rise to her feet and take the cup of water from beside his bed to hold out for him. He looked at her, startled by the gesture, she thought, and good. Let him see despite all that he'd done to her, he hadn't turned her into the monster he was. "I'm glad you're here," he told her once he had taken a few sips.

"I didn't come here for you," she started cutting him off. "I came for Annabell."

He gave her another look, she suspected it to be guilt maybe but wasn't so sure he was capable of such a thing. "Whatever it was I'm still glad you came. There's something I need to tell you."

She put the cup back on the table. "What is it?"

"The baby," he paused to take a labored breath, "your baby…"

Her eyes widened. Oh, God _no_. No, no, no, no. She didn't want to hear _anything_ he had to say about her daughter. She turned away, hoping that by not looking at him she could stop the emotions and memories from that day from returning but it was no use. She was already crying. Anger rose up in her, filled her with more hatred that she thought she could possess. He couldn't do this to her now. He couldn't ask this of her because she wasn't willing to forgive him. Shaking her head, told him, "Dad, don't-"

"She's alive."

Abby blinked and spun back to face him unsure she heard him right. "What?"

Now _he_ was the one who was crying and with every word that came from his mouth, she didn't recognize the man in front of her. "I went to my lawyer before she was born and had it all arranged. It was me who signed the papers with your signature. I told the doctors and nurses not to mention the baby or the adoption because it would be too painful for you and then I let you believe she didn't survive."

She took a step back and then another. Betrayal stung in her heart like she had never felt. "How could you?"

"You had your life in front of you… I couldn't let you throw that away." His tone was stronger now. More resolute. And it made her sick to think that deep down he still believed he did the right thing. "I need you to forgive me, Abigail."

 _She's alive._ His words came back and became a mantra in her head. Her daughter was _alive_.

" _Where_ is she?" she demanded.

"The adoption agency's information is in the folder on the cart, along with a confession notarized by my lawyer. His number is in there. He will help you with any legal issues you may have."

Her steps carried her around his bed and over to the cart where she took the stack of papers then made her way to the door.

"Abigail," he pleaded, and she paused in the doorway, didn't bother to turn to look at him. She couldn't. "I was only trying to protect you."

Protect her. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, she wanted to turn and shout at him that he didn't know the first thing about protecting someone. But the longer she stood there, the longer she was from finding her daughter and she was done letting him keep her from her.

"Please, don't call me again," she said, then made her way at a run to the elevator.

* * *

The following morning, Marcus woke to a call from his mother. He was still half asleep while she carried on about something that had happened at the church with Father Carrington's flock of doves that -if he had heard her correctly- involved a lot of shit in the pews and would he go drop by the house and take the kids to school. He'd grumbled an affirmative, and after hanging up with her, stumbled groggily around his room trying to find a clean pair of jeans.

Once he was dressed, he stopped in the kitchen long enough to make himself a large mug of coffee before he left.

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair, and put on his sunglasses while making his way to his car and cursed under his breath. Eight in the morning was too sodding early for any activity that included leaving the house.

A half an hour later, he was back in the car with the wee devils finally on their way to school. They chatted noisily in the back, while he listened to an older alternative station that usually didn't play his songs, but this morning seemed to be a morning he wasn't going to escape them because the third one came on since they started to the school.

More familiar with all of his songs than he was, his ten-year-old nephew, Bellamy asked from the back of the car, "Why don't you sing your own songs?"

Marcus smirked and gazed into the rearview mirror. "Because I'm not that good."

"Yes, you are, Uncle Marcus!" Octavia piped up from next to her brother. Her five-year-old fiery brow furrowed in disapproval. "Granny says so."

He grinned at the irrefutability in her little voice, as though her grandmother's word was law.

"Well, I'm a better writer than I am a singer," he told her, and when her frown didn't disappear he added, "Besides I only sing them for my best girl, and that's you."

"And gran?" she asked leveling a stare at him.

He shook his head and right before bringing the mug to his lips to take a sip he said, "And Gran, yes."

His sister's kids lived with his mum but there are some weekends he took them to give his mum a rest. And in the summer when he wasn't working so much, would take them for a week or two at a time. They were good kids, if not a bit rowdy. His sister would have been proud of them.

In truth, he could be singing his own songs, but that would involve touring and days, weeks, months away. His mum could handle the kids on her own, but she shouldn't have to. He didn't regret staying home to help his mum raise them. He promised his father when he passed on to take care of her and he planned to keep his word.

Besides, he'd never been one for the big stage. Singing in small pubs was one thing, being thrust up onto a pavilion stage with thousands of fans was another. It wasn't his thing. He'd rather write the songs, maybe try them out himself on a small, unknowing crowd in the city with his mates before he demoed them to his record label, but not professionally.

"When can we come stay with you?" Octavia asked.

"In a few days," he reassured her, "on the weekend when you're out of school."

Of the two kids, Octavia was the one most attached to him. While he was cool uncle Marcus to his nephew, Octavia had only been a little under two when her mum died, and she placed him in that missing parental role in her life.

"Are you still coming to my spring concert?" she asked with hope in her tone.

"Wouldn't miss it for the whole world," he promised as he pulled up to the school. "Alright, off you go. Be good. Gran will be here to pick you up."

"See you later!" Bellamy called then flung the car door open.

Octavia smiled from the back seat, and cried, _Bye!_ then ran off after her brother.

He waited until they were at the door for their school before he started to drive home where he would probably sleep for a few more hours then make some more coffee and get to work on a new song.

The only thing about not singing his own songs was knowing if she ever heard them, she'd never know they were written for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Eight hours. It took her eight hours for her to get through to someone at the private adoption agency her father went through. And even then when she finally did get to speak with someone and explain her situation, she was directed to the New York Department of Children and Families. As far as the adoption agency was concerned, her daughter's adoption was finalized and out of their hands. It was now up to her and her father's attorney to proceed with any legal action.

Her father's attorney had been in court all morning. His legal assistant tried to reassure her Hyrum had been expecting her call and would call her back the moment he was free from court. But for all her comforting words, they did nothing to keep Abby from going downtown herself.

Between talking to one person or another, the missed calls from work had begun to stack up, and so she called the hospital from the cab. The woman on the phone had been short while Abby explained again what had happened, but instead of empathizing with her, she asked her questions about when Abby planned to return. Then she spent the next five minutes lecturing her on how there was a process for taking time off, but Abby didn't care. They could kick her out of her residency, do whatever the hell they wanted.

 _Processes_.

She was already so sick to death about hearing that word that by the time she got to the department for children and families she could scream. And she did. Right at the woman seated behind the glass window who was preventing her from finding her daughter. "I don't care about your damn process! I'm not leaving here without someone telling me where I can find my daughter!" The woman's eyes went wide. Abby startled the woman on the other side of the glass, and it made her regret raising her voice but she felt so desperate. " _Please_ , I thought she was dead." Her last word came out along with a choked sob. She wasn't sure where the tears kept coming from, she'd been crying almost nonstop since that morning. "Please," she said in a whisper, "I just want to find my little girl."

The woman's eyes shift from her's somewhere over her shoulder. Abby turned half expecting to see a security guard standing behind her only it wasn't. It was a woman with a short, dark pixie cut-hair, older than her by a handful of years. She wore a severe-looking frown and a name tag on her chest that read _Indra_.

"Ma'am, if you'll kindly lower your voice, and come with me I'll help you, alright?" The woman raised a brow and stared at her.

Abby nodded feeling chastize by her tone combined with her look of disapproval. When she said nothing else to her and started to walk, Abby followed her behind the counter and down a long hall to an office. Indra took a seat at the desk and began typing things into her computer.

"Have a seat," Indra said without looking over at her.

Abby did, and while waiting there, she let herself think about how there had always a feeling tucked away into a part of her heart that told her her baby hadn't died. Sometimes she felt it so strongly she could almost close her eyes and picture what she might be doing.

"When is her birthday?"

Abby straightened in her chair, tucked her hair behind her ears, and gave her full attention to Indra. "December 25th, 2003."

Indra sat there blinking at her a moment. "Christmas baby, huh?" Abby smiled at the woman but her attention went back on the screen in front of her. "And her place of birth?"

"New York City Presbyterian."

She typed in more information, and Abby waited, wringing her hands in her lap. After a moment, Indra leaned toward her screen. "Hmm. Interesting."

Abby's heart knocked hard. "What? Did you find her? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," she told her once again began to type away at her keyboard. "This must be your lucky day because you won't be fighting any legal battles to get her back. She's in a home for children in Boston. The initial adoptive parents who took her after she was born placed her into the system four months ago."

Abby let out a breath she hadn't been aware she had been holding. The relief to know she wouldn't have to fight a couple for her child, which she was terrified she would have to do, was palpable. And yet, the fact that someone who had her for her first few years just gave her up made her illogically angry. However, she only let herself feel that anger for a few moments because her daughter was out there waiting for someone to come take her and love her. "What can I do? How can I get her back?"

"There will be some paperwork. Considering the circumstances, it won't be too difficult for you. I'll call the home and let them know you're coming to get her." There was a noise, a hum and then the sound of something being printed in the corner of the room. Indra stood, collected the papers straightening them before holding them out to her. "This first paper here is their address. I'll make sure they're expecting you. The second paper is a picture of her. Her name is Natalie."

Abby took the papers and lifting the first sheet, her breath caught in her chest and tears fill her eyes. When she pictured her daughter, she imagined she would be beautiful but even her mind couldn't compare. Her long, wavy hair that fell over her shoulders was not as light as hers, but darker like her father. Not only that, Abby could see so much of Marcus in her. Her eyes, Abby had been right. She had his eyes. _My nose,_ she thought and let out a watery laugh remembering long ago lying in bed with Marcus running the tip of her finger down his nose and the face he made waking up to her touch.

" _I'll thank you to leave my nose alone, woman," he told her and captured her hand with his._

" _But I love your nose," she said and leaned forward to kiss the tip._

 _He let out a scoff and wrapped his arms around her pulling her closer to his side. "I can't see why."_ _Peeking an eye open,_ _he said, "S'not like yours. A cute button of a thing."_

 _Propping herself up on her elbow she looked down at him and repeated her earlier caress running her finger down his nose. "I like yours because it suits you. It makes you look distinctively handsome."_

 _He smiled and reached up once again, this time he took her hand and kissed her finger. "Let's just pray all our children have your nose."_

 _She had grinned down at him. Her heart knocking hard in her chest. God, she loved him. "All our children, hm?"_

" _You know, later when I've convinced you to stay here in Scotland and marry an underpaid pub singer."_

 _He kissed her then. Long and deep, and God had either of them known then how soon they'd get started on that family._

"Thank you," she told Indra, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Thank you so much."

* * *

Back at home, Abby unlocked the door to her apartment and rushed into her bedroom. She had just caught the last seat on the plane from New York to Boston leaving that night. The flight was scheduled to board at ten, and it was almost seven.

She pulled a suitcase from the top of her closet and setting it on her bed, quickly unzipped it. So many thoughts raced through her mind. She had just finished speaking with her father's attorney, Hyrum. Indra had faxed over Natalie's file from the department of children and families, and all their paperwork to his office before she left. As soon as she got into a cab, she called to make sure they had got them, which they had, and he notified her he already started the petition to get her parental rights returned to her.

 _Just as he was assuring her she would have them and soon, she blurted out the words without really thinking about them. "When is the soonest I can take her out of the country?"_

 _There was a pause and then, "Pardon?"_

" _Her father lives in Scotland," she told him as though it wasn't news to him. "I want to take her there."_

" _Ah, well… that's uh, " he stammered and cleared his throat. "Her original birth certificate is still in your name._ _All there is to be done is to null-and-void the amended certificate which I will file along with the petition for the reinstatement of your parental rights Monday morning. I see no reason why they will be denied or conditional given your father's uh, confession... and since the adoption took place without the consent of the birth father." He cleared his throat again. "You would be able to file for a passport as soon as the judge has signed the decree which I will take to the court in the morning."_

 _She let out a long breath, thinking of what she would need for an even longer trip if it all worked out. She hated to drag Natalie from Boston to New York then to Scotland. If she could get everything together, she could just go from Boston to Edinburgh. "Good," she replied, absentmindedly thinking of all the things she would need to do._

" _I should tell you it can take three to four weeks normal processing time to get a passport."_

 _She closed her eyes feeling her hope beginning to leave her. "Is there a way to get one sooner?"_

" _You'd need to make an appointment," he started, and she listened while he let out a long, heavy breath. "Is this something you're set on?"_

" _It is," she said._

" _I thought so. Alright, call back to my office tomorrow and give Deanna the address to the hotel you'll be staying at. I'll have her send you the paperwork you'll need and make you an appointment with the local passport office there in Boston. If you're lucky, they'll issue you one that day."_

 _Her heart leaped. "That soon?"_

" _It's been known to happen. But you'll need to also provide proof of travel. As soon as you can, make your arrangements to Scotland. Plane tickets, hotel reservations. Have that all worked out before you go apply for her passport."_

" _I can do that. Thank you, Hyrum."_

" _It's the least I can do after… everything." There was a pause and then his heavy sigh right before he told her, "Dr. Walter's if I had known you knew nothing of the adoption-"_

" _Please, don't," Abby interrupted. "I've spent too long thinking of what happened. Right now I'd rather just focus on my daughter and getting her back."_

" _You'll have her back," he told her, sounding sure and determined. "I'll make certain of it."_

Abby packed jeans and shirts, leggings and sweaters, and underwear and thick socks. She pulled outfits from her closet with no real consideration. If she could help it, she wasn't planning on coming home anytime soon. She'd waited almost four years to tell Marcus he was a father and she wasn't waiting any longer.

Her phone rang across the room where she tossed it on her bed along with her purse. With a frustrated growl, she tossed one more shirt into the suitcase and made her way over to the bed. _Callie_. Her friend was probably calling to give her the third degree for missing her shift.

She answered with a distracted, "Hey," and went back to her packing.

"Hey?" Callie laughed lightly. "Hey, yourself. Why aren't you here?"

Abby held her phone away from her ear and glanced at the time. Just nearly eight, Callie would be still at the hospital. She worked a similar schedule to Abby which had them working until sometime after nine on most days. In her bathroom, she grabbed a cosmetic bag from under the sink and tossed in some of her makeup from her drawer.

"At home trying to get packed. I'm going to be gone a while."

"Gone?" Callie's voice grew quieter, more curious. "Gone where?"

"Boston," she said and then after dropping a lipstick into the bag, braced her hand on the counter and let the emotions from the day come. "Callie, you won't believe it, but I went to see my father this morning and my daughter… he told me she's alive."

"Alive?" Callie asked, "What? How?"

She told Callie everything that had happened. Starting with getting a call from her aunt, her conversation with her father and Indra, to her call with Hyrum, purposefully omitting anything about Scotland, for now. Callie was a great friend, her best friend, but seeing Marcus wasn't something she wanted anyone's ridicule or opinion on at the moment.

"Abby, slow down. What about the hospital?"

Abby's brow furrowed. Had Callie heard a word she said? She had been with Abby after she had thought she lost her daughter. She knew how devastated Abby had been. How she could think anything else would matter more? "Really, Callie? I just found out my _daughter_ is alive. That she's been abandoned and she's all alone in a home full of strangers. Forgive me but my career and the hospital are the last things on my mind right now."

"Have you at least told anyone that you're leaving?"

Her shoulders fell. "I have," she said with a sigh. "I haven't lost all my good sense."

"Well, I'm happy for you." Abby could hear some noise in the background that sounded a lot like traffic. "Do you need a ride to the airport?"

"I'm," she paused, thought about how she would prefer riding with her best friend than a random cabbie. "If you think you can get here by eight thirty, I'd love one."

"I'm leaving here now."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Marcus found his way to his back deck with an ale and his guitar. He hadn't thought of anything particular to write that day, just played a few of his older songs feeling a bit more nostalgic that he normally did. Something about the day had him missing her more than usual.

Marcus snorted. He always missed her.

Just then, his back gate swung open, and Marcus looked over to see his mate, Charles. The dark-skinned man gave him a look of exasperation. "I've been knocking on your door for ten minutes."

Marcus smirked. "I obviously didn't hear it."

Charles shook his head, and walking up the stairs to the deck took a seat in one of Marcus' patio chairs and asked, "Sup?"

"Not much," he replied, then leaned over and took one of the two unopened beers beside him, handed one to Charles.

Charles took it and lifted it gratefully in the air. "What's this? Another song?"

Marcus shook his head. "Nah, just messing around."

"Well, since you're just messing around how about you come downtown with me tonight? It's ladies night, and I don't know about you but I've been dying to get out since Cindy and I divorced."

Marcus grinned. Charles had moved to Scotland from America after meeting Cindy one night in a pub. They got married the next week and they'd been fighting every day since. That had been two years ago now. "I bet you are, but I think I'll pass."

Charles made a face at him. Marcus knew that face well. It was a face of impatience mixed with pity. "Man, why don't you just call her?"

He chuckled. "And sound like a fool? Nah, she's probably moved on by now."

"Look her up and find out."

Marcus raised a brow at him. "Look her up?"

"Yeah, you know, use the world wide web," Charles said, his dark brows knitting together. "You never thought of doing this?"

"Of course, I have," he defended. "But what good would it do?"

Charles brows rose up into his nonexistent hairline. "It'll give you some closure for one thing. Let you move on or spur you to grow a set and go after her like you should have all those years ago."

"I can't just leave," he began.

"You can actually," Charles interrupted. "Your mom's fine. The kids will be fine."

"And if she wants nothing to do with me? How do I know she hasn't forgotten all about me? Need I remind you, it was her who stopped answering my calls?"

It was silent between them for long moments. Some of the frustration he thought he'd let go a long time ago rose up in him easier than he thought.

"Maybe there was a reason for it? You told me her dad was a real piece of work, didn't you? At least you'll know, and you can stop wondering what happened. You're never going to move on. You'll always be stuck here writing lonely ass songs for the rest of your life."

He let out a heavy sigh and picked at the strings of his guitar. "Maybe you're right."

"You know what you need."

Marcus squinted over at him, the sun now shining brightly in his face as it started to set. He could guess a lot of things Charles might believe that he needed. "Do I want to know?"

"You need to get laid. When's the last time you took a girl home?"

"If I said years would you pity me?"

"Good lord." Charles sighed. "I don't know who you do it. I mean, don't you ever miss resting your head between a pair of soft-"

Thankfully at that moment, the sound of Marcus' mother's voice shouted from somewhere inside his house saving him from finding out what exactly was soft. "Marcus? Are you home?"

"Back here, Mum." The sound of Octavia and Bellamy's voices could be heard from the kitchen and his mum's footsteps as they drew near. Marcus smirked over at his friend. "Do you want to go on with what you were saying?"

Charles laughed, pat him on the knee and thankfully changed the subject.

Later that night, when he was finally alone, Marcus reluctantly sat down at the computer. While he waited for it to boot up, a sort of apprehension twisted his stomach into knots.

Her name he typed easily into the search bar and stared at it a moment before pressing enter. The page went white while it searched, and he took lungfuls of air before letting it all out in a whoosh when the first results showed her name next to New York Presbyterian Hospital.

He clicked on the link and the hospital's page came up and under it, all her information along with her picture. A smile pulled his lips up and up. There she was. She looked the same as he remembered her. Four years hadn't aged her a day.

It showed her education at Columbia University and told of her ongoing residency there at Presbyterian in pediatrics. His smile grew big and wide and proud. She'd done it. She'd finished school and became a doctor. He couldn't be more pleased for her.

It made him think back, to a memory of them walking along the beach in Portobello. It'd been cold and gray and Goddamn windy, but she wanted to see the ocean before she left. There were only five more days he had with her, and God help him, he didn't want to let her go but knew he had to, if only for a little while.

So he spent a good portion of his time just looking at her. Watching the way her hair would blow around her face from the wind. The way her cheeks and the tip of her nose grew all rosy from the chill. The way she would smile over at him and look away whenever he looked over at her like she'd been doing the exact same thing as him.

" _How long until you graduate, then?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist bringing her close by his side._

 _She smiled up at him and slipped her arm around him. "A little less than a year."_

" _Ah, that's good."_

 _They walked some more, and then she let out a sigh and said, "Then an internship for another and then a three-year residency."_

" _Jesus." He had grinned and run a hand through his hair. "I can't imagine spending that long in school."_

" _They kind of like you to know what you're doing," she teased._

" _I guess so, especially with the wee ones."_

" _You can come visit me?" she suggested in that low, shy voice of hers that always made his heart thump hard in his chest._

 _His footsteps came to a halt, and he tugged gently on her hand, pulling her to him. Looking down into her warm brown eyes he promised, "You name the dates and time and I'll be there."_

 _She rose on the tips of her toes. Her tiny stature had a way of pulling the strings of his heart, endured her to him more than she'd ever know. Leaning his head down, he placed his lips on hers and kissed her for long moments until it got too cold to stand outside and kiss._

Marcus pulled himself from the memory and stared at the image on the screen. There, something deep down in his bones assured him their love was real. That what they shared was no fling or passing fancy. Charles had been right, something happened, he was sure. Just like it was his sister's death kept him from getting to her, something happened to keep her from him. He knew it like he knew the sun would come up just over the brick wall and shine right into his bloody bedroom smacking him right in the face because he forgot to close his sodding drapes.

This certainly had him reaching for his phone and dialing the number under her contact information. It rang and rang, and he wasn't sure he was going to hear anyone over the pounding of his heart, but someone picked up. A soft voice greeted him with a _hello_ and thanked him for calling New York Presbyterian.

"To whom may I direct your call?"

"I was hoping to speak with Dr. Abigail Walters."

"One moment please." His head fell back and his eyes closed. Jesus Christ, what was he doing? He was mad. Fortunately and unfortunately for him, the voice came back quickly. "I'm sorry, sir, but Dr. Walters has taken some time off due to a family emergency. Is there someone else I can get you? Would you like to make an appointment?"

His head fell forward. "No, thank you. Have a good day."

"Thank you, sir. You too."

Ending the call, he tossed the phone on the couch beside him and sat back against the cushions. Well, he supposed that was that then.


End file.
